CHAPTER XVIII.
THE TWO ABBÉS.
Dundrennan, Sir Quintin Home, Raynold Cheyne and I, entered the common hall, or room of the tavern, and after bowing politely to two abbés who were seated in a corner conversing over a stoup of French wine, and reading the columns of the 'Mercury,' we ordered dinner.
'A poor tavern this,' said Sir Quentin, surveying the old gloomy room and worm-eaten furniture.
'True; but our swords are sheathed in leather just now—not crimson velvet,' said the Viscount, pithily.
'That ride from Mailly to-day has given me an appetite,' said Cheyne; 'dinner—dinner, quick!'
'And jovial stoups of your wine of champagne all round,' added Sir Quentin.
'What the deuce, my Laird of Redden!' exclaimed the Viscount, 'thy purse actually rings with the sound of metal; hast thou inherited a fortune?'
'Or been upon the highway?' added Cheyne, in the same tone of banter.
'I have been overmuch upon the highway since I rid myself of yonder English captain in the bounds of Berwick,' replied the Baronet, with a grim smile; 'since that unfortunate day, my purse has usually been the lightest thing about me.'